She Will Be Loved
by DarkestTruth
Summary: Sasuke is a coward in more ways than one; no one knows this better, or is more oblivious to this fact, than Uchiha Ichiko. OC, Uchiha Massacre, oneshot. Sadness for the sake of sadness, slight AU.


Summary: She will be loved.

* * *

When Sasuke first met Ichiko, he knew he'd love her. She was quiet, unlike Naruto or Kiba, but not too quiet, unlike Hinata or Chouji. She smiled, unlike Shino, but none of them were fake, unlike Ino's or Sakura's. She was everything and nothing all at once and he couldn't help but love her.

She was plain, but there was a quaint air about it, and she was smart, but not arrogant, and she wasn't a ninja- just a fruit-seller's daughter- but he couldn't see how that mattered. Ichiko was wonderful and that was all there was to it.

She liked tomatoes and pink hair ribbons and the sun on her face. She disliked the dark and the cruel and the monsters.

Sasuke tried tomatoes. He pranked his brother with pink hair ribbons and tried looking at the sun one day, except it hurt his eyes and he still wanted to get the Sharingan so he stopped. Sasuke kept the lights on at night, although he didn't tell anyone, and always made sure to ask his brother whether or not his enemies had quick deaths. He called Itachi a 'meanie-monster' when the answer was no.

And he told her about it all, hoping that she'd catch on, but if she did she didn't answer with more than a laugh like the wind. She didn't say that she loved him, unlike all those girls in school (he thought it'd be nice if she did, even if Ino and Sakura were annoying, then banished the thought).

Someday, he thought, I'll be brave enough to tell her. Then maybe she could love me.

Later, he was seven. He entered the Academy and earned first place. He learned the fireball jutsu and made his dad proud. He was brave enough to tell his aniki, the ANBU captain, to 'Stop. Please.' Itachi had even apologized; Sasuke felt his heart rise and thought oh, surely I'm brave enough to tell her now.

He resolved to tell her in three days, on her birthday. He'd buy her beautiful pink hair ribbons, some tomato treats, and that lovely necklace he'd seen in the toy store. The necklace had a small golden stone, set into a copper metal that made it look like the sun.

Two days later he came back home with all these treasures in hand. He'd gone to training, took a break to buy the presents along with some onigiri, and packed them carefully into a small white box which he put into his knapsack for extra protection.

Her corpse greeted him.

He stepped around it, softly. He must have been hallucinating; he was quite tired, after all. He'd go home and sleep and tomorrow he'd go to her birthday party and finally kiss her cheek, finally say that he loved her.

He walked home. He though he saw a shadow.

He went home. He fell asleep to a never-ending darkness illuminated by a red moon.

He woke up to a hospital the next day. It was Ichiko's birthday. Yesterday, she had died.

He ignores that and goes to the graveyard, where he kisses her name on the stone and tells her 'I love you'.

He places the gifts on the ground. He rises one last time; kisses her grave again, tells her 'I love you' once more, and turns around.

Uchiha Ichiko was a plain girl with a smile soft as the sun and a voice like the wind. She liked many things and disliked more things.

She will be loved in the beyond, because her prince was too much of a coward to say those three words.

* * *

Uchiha Sasuke introduces himself to his teacher, his teammates; it's quite simple.

"My name is Uchiha Sasuke. I like many things and dislike more things. My dream is quite ordinary. It's about the sun and the wind."

As an afterthought, he adds,

"And a gravestone."

(Not Itachi's.)

* * *

A/N: Word count: 650.

*derpface*

I was aiming for a short one of 250, but…yeah. I think too much. But for a detail-obsessed maniac, I somehow managed to skip writing about his confrontation with Itachi completely. I'm sorry; I didn't feel like crying today so I didn't write about the massacre. I always end up sobbing when I write about the massacre.

*rageface/sadface/i'mseriousface*

Do you likey? Will you reviewy? If you reviewy, you get a cooky…

(Had to say that, my sister's been driving me nuts with these –y jokes…)


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